


Impending Reboot

by NetRaptor



Series: Destiny and Destiny 2 stories [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Doomed Relationship, EXO - Freeform, F/M, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reboot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NetRaptor/pseuds/NetRaptor
Summary: Shane-4 is an Exo facing a reboot. Losing a close friend in battle has given him such severe PTSD that his mind is beginning to reject the mechanical body. Holding it off by trying to stay drunk, he meets a human woman who works on Exos and understands what he's going through. Their relationship begins to develop ... but will his impending reboot erase her from his memory?





	1. PTSD

Shane-4 sat at a table, his metal hands folded on its surface. He gazed at them, rather than at Commander Zavala, who sat across from him, recording his report.

"Standard surveillance mission on Mars," Shane was saying. "Around the foothills of Arsia Mons. We'd scouted that area three days in a row with no mishap. Cabal were dug into a bunker there, not much movement. Fourth day, satellites said the Cabal were moving north. We moved to a position to scope them out. Halfway there, we passed beneath a cliff, about three meters high. The Cabal had planted two snipers targeting our ghosts."

The commander's frown deepened a fraction, but he said nothing.

"We were riding sparrows," Shane-4 went on, never lifting his gaze from his folded hands. "Maxim-5 was my wingman. We should have been impossible to hit. Both our ghosts were out, scanning, as usual on scouting missions. Maxim's ghost just ... vanished in a flash of light. He braked, and they shot him next. My ghost pinpointed the snipers, which I neutralized with two grenades."

"Was Maxim-5 dead?" Zavala asked.

Shane nodded. "The slug penetrated his armor and passed through his heart. His ghost was scattered over a three-meter radius. He never had a chance, sir."

Zavala gazed at his tablet, frowning. As a member of the Awoken race, his skin was pale blue, with shimmers of Light visible in the veins on his forehead. Shane had trained under him in the Titan fighting discipline, and was immensely proud to call Zavala his commander. But now, the loss of his friend felt like he'd lost his core batteries. It was a horrible failure he couldn't reconcile.

Zavala straightened in the chair with a sigh. "If the Cabal have learned to target our ghosts, future Guardians must take precautions in dealing with them. Ghosts will have to remain phased at all times whenever there's risk of engagement. You, Shane-4, report to Exo Psych for analysis."

Shane nodded and rose to his feet. He saluted his commander, who acknowledged with a nod. "Take care of yourself, soldier. There aren't many Guardians left."

"Yes sir." Shane-4 left the quiet room and headed downstairs to Exo Psych. The Tower, where the Guardians were headquartered in the outer wall of the Last City, was all ups and downs with lots of stairs.

Shane, himself, was an Exo, or a robot body with human intelligence uploaded into it. He supposed that he had been human at one point, but after four reboots, the memories were long gone. He wore Titan armor, still dusty from the Mars deserts, and all he wanted right now was a long oil bath and a couple of stiff drinks. The Exo body processed organic material as fuel to charge the internal batteries. Certain types of alcohol did funny things to the processor, and by extension, the synthetic brain.

Exo Psych had a whole floor to itself, and looked like a cross between a hospital and a machine shop. Cubicles with beds inside were enclosed in great racks of machinery, ready to repair and rebuild.

Shane checked in and reported his reason for seeing a doctor: battlefield trauma. His green eye-lights dimmed a little as he wrote the words. Trauma caused the human mind to slowly begin rejection of the Exo body. This eventually led to death unless the Exo accepted a reboot, refreshing the human mind's hold, but erasing memories at random.

Shane-4 had only rebooted four times in his life, which put him as a very young Exo. He had met others who had rebooted fifteen or twenty times. Beyond that, they became more and more unstable, with people giving Banshee-44 plenty of space.

Maybe a reboot would be best. He'd forget the sight of Maxim-5's ghost exploding. No more memory of kneeling over his friend and seeing coolant bubbling out of a hole in his chest plate.

The doctor escorted him to a cubicle with two chairs in it. Shane took one, the doctor took the other.

"I'm Cairn-9," the doctor said, his mouth lighting gold with every word, as all Exos did. "Is this your first visit, Shane-4?"

"No," Shane said, staring at his hands. "I was here for my last reboot. But I don't remember the details."

"You wouldn't," Cairn said, tapping his tablet's screen. "Ah, here you are. Records show that battlefield trauma got to you then, too. Hive, looks like."

Hive. Naturally. Shane suppressed a shudder. He didn't want to remember them, their cobbled-together thralls and screaming wizards.

He also had no idea where he had rebooted the other times, or why. It may have been before the battle of the Twilight Gap, when there had been enough Guardians to man all six towers. But the Last City wasn't so well defended today.

Cairn looked at him expectantly. "What kind of trauma brings you here?"

Shane repeated his report in the same words he had used with Commander Zavala. It was easier to talk about it in a series of distant facts, leaving out Maxim's scream as his ghost was severed from him forever, the stench of his vital fluids as they poured into the dust. The inarticulate cry that Shane's ghost had made as it witnessed the death of its brother ghost and companion Guardian. Shane's ghost had phased into him and had said nothing since.

Cairn listened closely, noting down details on his tablet. Then he gave Shane a long, critical look. "Let's see your ghost."

Shane held out a hand and silently summoned the little robot. It appeared, a little star-shaped thing the size of his fist, with a round core in the center with a single blue eye-light.

Cairn produced his own ghost, which had beautiful golden scrollwork painted on its outer shell. It scanned Shane's ghost first, then Shane, himself.

"Hm," Cairn muttered, studying his tablet as his ghost uploaded its readings. "Have you two talked since then?"

Shane glanced at his ghost, which didn't look at him. "No sir. It's been pretty quiet."

Cairn looked at Shane's ghost sternly. "I know you're grieving, too. But you can't treat your Guardian like this. He needs you."

Shane's ghost jumped in midair, as if Cairn had jolted him with electricity. "Y-yes sir," he stammered.

Cairn studied Shane. "If you experience any symptoms of rejection - nausea, detachment, unease, sleep loss - come to me at once."

"Yes sir." Shane hadn't slept since Mars, three days ago. He had another reboot coming up, all right. Soon he'd be Shane-5 and forget all about his best friend. How many best friends had he lost and forgotten already?

"I'm putting you in for two weeks of medical leave," Cairn said, typing this in. "You can't be out in the field if you need a reboot. Get some rest."

"Yes sir."

The doctor dismissed him. Shane went to his quarters in the east wing of the tower - a tiny little room, barely big enough for a bed and a locker for his belongings.

As he stripped off his armor and donned civilian clothes, his ghost said, "I want to apologize, Shane."

"Don't," Shane replied. "I know why you've kept quiet."

Ghost floated at shoulder level, his eye and four facets scrunched together in an expression of sadness. "I've never seen another ghost die before. I never thought it could happen ... like that."

Shane wrapped himself in a cloak, throwing it over one shoulder like a thick scarf. "I just want to forget it. The Chunky Cluck opens soon. What say we buy a few drinks with our combat pay?"

Ghost continued to look unhappy. "Fine for you. I can't drink anything."

"I'll drink it for you." Shane pulled on a pair of soft synthetic-leather boots. "Nothing like a bottle of klatch to make your cares go away."

Ghost groaned. "It won't hold off the reboot forever, Shane. You know it's coming. I can't heal it."

Shane didn't answer because he didn't want to think about it. He strode out of the room, one more dashing Exo, and headed downstairs to the city streets. His Ghost zipped along beside him.

As they reached the streets, Shane snapped his fingers. Ghost phased into him at once. When Shane went out drinking, he liked to pretend that he wasn't a Guardian, hadn't been resurrected with the Traveler's light powering his circuits. It was hard enough being an Exo among humans without being a Guardian, too.

At night, the Last City came alive with street lights, neon signs, and people moving to and fro on business. High overhead, the moon-like being called the Traveler reflected the city's permaglow, glowing a faint gold against the stars. Shane glanced up at it. It hadn't moved or given any other sign of life since the Darkness had ended humanity's golden age. Yet still it hung there, supported by nothing. It couldn't be entirely dead, or it would have crashed to earth.

Shane ignored the brightly-lit shops and the enticing smells of spiced meat and fried potatoes. He headed toward a small shop on a corner with no windows and a bouncer standing outside the door. He was a burly human as broad as any of the frog-like Cabal. He nodded at Shane as the Exo entered the bar.

The bar was lit with low yellow lights over the various tables, with most of the light coming from behind the counter itself. All three races mingled among the tables, eating, drinking, talking, looking at tablets. The atmosphere was calm and relaxed - just what Shane wanted. He secured a bar stool and ordered a bottle of klatch.

Inside his head, his ghost said, "You haven't eaten in nine point three hours."

"So?" Shane thought, pouring himself a glass of the neon-blue liquid.

"So," his ghost said hesitantly, "even Exos react badly to klatch on an empty stomach."

"Maybe that's what I want," Shane thought. He drank the glass to to the bottom, and refilled it. The liquor burned its way into his processor, where it raised his internal temperature by half a degree.

Nearby, someone swore in admiration, then laughed. Shane glanced around.

A human woman sat on the next stool, leaning her elbows on the polished counter. She had olive skin and long, curly hair that cascaded over one shoulder. She wore a simple crisscross tunic with a wide belt, and leggings tucked into high boots.

"What?" Shane said. The liquor wasn't working as fast as he wanted - he could still think straight.

"You downed that klatch like it was water," the woman said, still half-laughing. "If I tried that, I'd be missing an esophagus."

"Klatch was made for one thing," Shane said. "Getting Exos drunk." He tipped the bottle in her direction. "Want some?"

She held up both hands. "No thanks, I can't handle that stuff. By the way, I'm Cindra."

"Shane-4," he replied.

"Nice to meet you, Shane-4," Cindra replied. "If you're ever in need of my services, just ask."

Shane hunched his shoulders a little. While Exos were capable of intercourse, it wasn't what he wanted right now. Hell, it meant that all she wanted was his cash. No thanks.

Cindra correctly interpreted his body language. She laughed again. "I don't mean that. Here." She slid a business card in front of him.

Shane squinted at it. Travelers and Moons: Exo repairs and mods: best in the business since the Battle of Six Ways.

"You're a mechanic?" he asked.

Cindra smiled. "Been specializing in Exos since my stepdad got his arm blown off and I helped repair it."

A waitress appeared with a sizzling plate of hot wings. Cindra accepted it gladly, along with a light beer.

Shane tried to ignore the intoxicating aroma of spices. "You do mods, too?"

Cindra dipped a wing in a bowl of creamy sauce. "Sure! Guardian Exos get all the cool stuff - built-in guns, headlights, all those scans their ghost does. Exos on the street may not be full of Light, but they want the cool stuff, too. We've got a team of engineers who reverse-engineer Clovis Bray tech and install it into modern Exos."

Shane blinked, taken aback. "Is that ... legal?"

Cindra smiled. "Sure it is. It's only a matter of time before our brain-dead enemies attack us again. We need every advantage we can get."

Shane thought ruefully of the state-of-the-art Exo repair facility in the basement of the Tower. It had never occurred to him that non-Guardian Exos might appreciate upgrades, too.

His thoughts spiraled. If Maxim-5 had received better upgrades, would he have been able to protect himself and his ghost from the snipers? Once more, Shane knelt over his friend, watching the lights in his eyes flicker out.

He knocked back a second glass of klatch and poured himself a third.

Cindra watched this without a word. Instead, she pushed her plate of wings in his direction. "This order is way too big for me. Want some?"

In Shane's head, his Ghost whispered, "Yes, you do."

Shane shrugged. "Maybe a couple." The klatch was finally hitting him. The awful memories faded a little, taking the pain with them. The Chunky Cluck took on an ambient glow around each lamp.

Shane and Cindra polished off the wings. Shane wasn't sure if he felt better because of the food or the numbing effects of the klatch, but at least it would get his ghost off his back.

"So," Cindra said, "what do you do? I haven't seen you in here before."

Damn, just when he was feeling good. It'd be hard not to spill his guts right now. "Soldier. Out on medical leave."

"Medical leave?" Cindra's eyes raked him. "Damaged?"

He tapped his forehead. "Trauma."

"Oh." Her lips drew together. "I can't repair that. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Suddenly Shane found that he did want to talk about it. He wanted to remember Maxim, the good times and laughter. "My best friend, Maxim-5, had a run-in with snipers."

Cindra winced. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "Hit me hard. Maxim was furious, too, but he couldn't do anything about it. He always was the driven type. If I was wrong, he let me know. If he disagreed with the commander's orders, our squad heard about it. But he knew when to let it go and laugh about it."

"Sounds like a great guy," Cindra said softly.

Shane talked about Maxim for the next hour, telling stories that sent Cindra into fits of laughter. The klatch lingered in his processor, warming and relaxing him, staving off the symptoms of rejection sickness.

When the bar closed at 2 AM, Cindra offered to walk him home. Shane froze. Even in his intoxicated state, he didn't want to admit that he was a Guardian. What Guardian went out and got drunk on their ass? They were supposed to be more noble than that.

"It's fine, I live close by," he told her. "Thanks for the company."

"Take care of yourself, Shane-4," Cindra said, and walked off down the street in the other direction.

Shane stumbled home to the Tower and crashed in his bunk. Sleep claimed him at once - another effect of the klatch.

During the night, his ghost phased out of him and went to his tablet. There it thoughtfully composed a tribute speech to Maxim-5, working through its grief in the only way it knew how.


	2. Life raft

Shane slept until noon and awoke with the impression that his head had been replaced with a block of lead.

He groaned and slowly sat up. His processor was functioning very slowly indeed, and the klatch had interfered with his brain functions, all right.

His ghost phased out of his chest and studied him. "I could heal you. But I'm more inclined to let you suffer as a lesson about drinking too much."

Shane moaned. "Come on, Ghost. I'm dying, here."

Ghost tilted his blue eye upward to the ceiling and did nothing.

Shane pulled on a few clothes and used the restroom, wishing that Exos could throw up. But that wasn't part of their processor's function. It wasn't until he had crept downstairs to the galley and was nursing a cup of hot chicory tea that he realized the strangeness of this thought. _He wished Exos could._

The rejection process was creeping forward. On some level, he had ceased identifying as an Exo, causing a division between his mind and body. That was the trouble with melding a human mind into a body of metal - eventually, the human mind couldn't accept this.

Maybe he should just go down to the medical ward and have the reboot performed now. It would end the grieving and possibly the hangover, too. But a fresh pang of guilt smote him. Had Maxim been so unimportant that Shane wanted to forget him so easily? Maxim would punch him and make a smart remark about Shane not being man enough to handle a little pain.

"Ghost," he thought to the robot phased inside him, "I'm slipping. When's the best time for a reboot?"

Ghost made a sigh like a groan. "You'll know it's time when you begin hating your body and trying to take it off."

Shane shuddered and gazed at his hands. Despite his mental disassociation, they were still his hands. He flexed his fingers, watching the joints bend.

"Ghost ... I've rebooted four times already."

"Yes."

"Is that what happened every time?"

Ghost didn't answer for a long moment. "Well ... sometimes. When you were very bad. I lose you each time and we have to start over. On your third reboot, the memory erasure was so extreme that I had to teach you about being a guardian all over again." He sounded sad and wistful.

Shane pondered this, a sense of despair welling up in him. Nobody talked about what their ghost experienced when their bonded Guardian lost their memories. Ghosts tended to keep that sort of thing private.

"Well," Shane thought, "this time, the only thing I'd lose would be failing to save Maxim. Not such a bad thing to forget."

"I won't forget it," Ghost replied quietly. "Not until the Traveler recalls all us ghosts and we merge back into the great consciousness. Or until my Light is extinguished at the hands of our enemies."

Shane had never heard his ghost talk this way. He took a long drink of his tea and tried to keep a shiver from creeping across his shoulders. In an effort to change the subject, he thought, "What about that girl in the Chunky Cluck last night? Cindra?"

"She didn't take blatant advantage of you," Ghost said. "That's a point in her favor. She seemed very understanding of the Exo psyche, for a human."

"She's an Exo mechanic," Shane thought. "I imagine she sees my kind all the time. I owe her a dinner."

"Yes, you do," Ghost agreed. "However, I recommend keeping the relationship purely platonic, with a reboot pending."

Shane nodded. "Yeah, I don't need to break any hearts. Keep me from doing anything stupid, will you?"

"Not sure I can keep you from doing anything," Ghost replied dryly. "Likely we won't see her again, anyway."

* * *

 

Cindra couldn't get Shane-4 out of her head.

As she worked in her shop that day, rebuilding a damaged Exo leg, their meeting at the bar played through her mind. She'd met Exos who were working through trauma, of course. It came with working in a repair shop - tales of fighting the Fallen at the gates, or riding a burning ship into the ground, or losing loved ones to random attacks. But Shane-4 had it particularly bad.

"Hey, Zeph-10," she said to the Exo to whom the damaged leg belonged. "Got an Exo question for you."

The delicate, graceful female on the next repair table turned her head and blinked yellow eye-lights. "Yes?"

Cindra kept working, splicing two wires together. "Say you were chilling at your favorite hangout. In comes an Exo you've never seen before. He orders a bottle of klatch and drinks all of it while you watch. Why would he do that?"

Zeph propped herself up on her elbows. "A whole _bottle_ of klatch? I would say he's in pain. Miles of pain."

Cindra wrapped the wire in insulating tape. "Yeah. That's the impression I got."

Zeph studied her for a long moment. "This wasn't a hypothetical question, was it?"

"Uh ... no. It was last night."

Zeph raised one articulated eyebrow. "Was he a Guardian?"

Cindra considered. "No armor and no ghost, but that doesn't mean anything. Guardians go out in civvy clothes sometimes, and their ghost stays inside them."

Zeph waved a finger. "Mark my words - he was a Guardian. And he'd seen something awful out there on the rim."

"A friend of his got killed by snipers," Cindra said slowly. "God. How do snipers kill a Guardian? He'd have to kill the ghost, too."

"A whole bottle of klatch," Zeph pointed out.

Cindra felt sick. She closed up a tiny panel and screwed it down, concentrating on the small, precise movements. If Shane was a Guardian - and he'd never said he wasn't - then losing a fellow Guardian that way must have broken him. It made Cindra's stomach flip over. Guardians were well-nigh invincible, with only the Hive or the Vex capable of truly destroying them. But for snipers to kill one with a couple of bullets? It was unexpectedly horrible.

"Would that be enough to trigger a reboot?" Cindra asked.

Zeph nodded. "You bet it is. I lost my husband three reboots ago, and I still remember losing him. Seems it's always the bad memories that stay with you."

Cindra worked in silence, testing the leg's various connections to make sure it transmitted commands correctly. Then she hefted it in her arms and carried it back to Zeph, where she slotted the hip back into the joint.

Zeph watched her face. "You can't help an Exo with that kind of trauma, Cindra. Don't try. You'll only break your own heart."

Cindra forced a smile. "Zeph, you always give me good advice. But for now, just shut up."

Zeph-10 threw back her head and laughed.

* * *

 

That evening, Shane-4 returned to the Chunky Cluck.

He knew he had very little chance of seeing Cindra again. How often did people frequent this place, anyway? She might come once a week, or once a month, or once a year. He still had her business card, but he hoped to meet her on neutral ground again before he went stalking her at her workplace. He was a Guardian. Stalking women was demeaning.

The bar was busier than the previous night, with all the tables full of people eating dinner and talking loudly over each other. Three waitresses wove through the crowd with platters of food and drink.

Shane stood against the wall near the bar until a stool opened up. He secured it and gazed around, hoping to spot a human girl with dark skin and long, curly hair. He ordered a small beer to pacify the bartender. No klatch tonight. Shane wanted his head clear.

"What are we doing here?" his Ghost growled in his head.

"I like the atmosphere," Shane thought, watching the door.

"You honestly think you're going to see that woman again?" Ghost was incredulous. "Look at this place. Even if she does show up, she won't get in the door."

Shane didn't reply, because Cindra had just walked in. He waved. She saw him, smiled, and picked her way through the crowd. He slid off his stool and offered it to her.

"How gentlemanly," she said over the noise, taking the stool. "Where will you sit?"

Shane indicated the couple on the other side of Cindra, who were finishing their noodle bowls. "Those seats will open up in a few minutes. Besides, I owe you dinner."

She beamed and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. Shane ordered her a drink.

"Shane," his Ghost said in a warning tone. "What in the Traveler's name are you doing?"

"I'm not grieving," Shane thought. "Deal with it."

His Ghost started to speak, then changed his mind.

The other stools freed up, and Shane secured the one beside Cindra. "So, what can I get you?"

She leaned her elbows on the counter, gazing at the chalkboard menu. "Looks like tonight's special is the miso soup. I'll have that, please."

Shane ordered the same thing, along with rice balls and flatbread.

"You can't always get miso," Cindra told Shane. "They have to grow the soybeans in the early spring, when the Fallen retreat for their breeding season. It's the only time we can reach the fields. Then it takes three to six months to ferment the miso. It's so good, but it's limited."

"That explains the price," Shane groaned, swiping his glimmer chip. "You might as well order cheese and clean out my account."

Cindra laughed. "I'm not that cruel."

They talked as they waited for their dinner to arrive. Shane found Cindra even more pleasant company than his alcohol-hazed memory had claimed. She offered to buy him a glass of klatch, which he refused. "I don't need to be numb tonight."

As the dinner rush abated and the bar quieted down, Shane and Cindra were able to carry on a real conversation. They were soon deep in the local Exo gossip, which Cindra followed because of her close association with them.

"Cayde-6 regularly volunteers down at the local day care," Cindra told him. "He says it's because he's lonely, but I think he had a family once. I overheard his ghost tell another ghost that it was nice to see Cayde spend time with children again."

Shane rubbed a hand over his metal head. "Wow, I had no idea. Cayde always seemed like such a hotshot, you know? I've heard him brag about his battle stats whenever I'm in the Tower. Seems he has a soft side."

Cindra traced a figure-eight pattern in her soup with her spoon. "The Tower, huh?"

Shane sat there a moment, caught. He hadn't wanted to drag Guardian baggage into this.

"Tell her," his ghost whispered in his head. "It's all right."

"I'm a Guardian," Shane sighed. "Sorry I didn't mention it before, but ... being drunk on klatch isn't a great first impression."

Cindra rubbed his arm. "I understand."

He blinked at her. "You do?"

She nodded. "Sure. You're like a superhero in disguise. I see a lot of Guardians who try to blend in, just trying to have some fun on the town. You have the hardest job there is. It's okay to take a break."

He nodded, relief relaxing him. "I know some people don't like Guardians. They still call us the Risen, for the Traveler's sake."

Cindra's mouth tightened. "I know those kind. The Osiris people. If they dislike Guardians so much, let them go live outside the walls with the Fallen. Might do the City some good if they left."

"Hey, now," Shane said. "That's a little extreme. So people disagree. Let them. Nobody deserves what the Fallen would do to them. Or the Hive." He told Cindra what the Hive did to fresh corpses.

She turned a faint green and pushed her soup aside. "Not sure I can finish this, now."

"Sorry!" Shane exclaimed. "Here, let me introduce you to my ghost."

He held out one hand and the tiny robot materialized over his palm.

"How do you do," Ghost said politely to Cindra.

She gazed at him, fascinated. "Oh, you sound different from other ghosts! I didn't realize they were so diverse."

"Diverse as the Guardians we serve," Ghost replied, twirling his star-shaped shell.

Shane left his Ghost to float over his shoulder as he and Cindra continued their conversation. Ghost watched everything in silence, scanning the bottles behind the counter and cataloging their contents.

As it neared midnight, Cindra excused herself, citing work in the morning. "How about we meet at Warlord park tomorrow, after five? Dinner is nice, but I'm tapped out on glimmer until my next paycheck."

Shane's own account was lower than he liked, so he agreed. He walked Cindra to the corner, where they went their separate ways, Shane back to the Tower, and Cindra three blocks to her apartment.

"I like her," Shane's ghost commented, still floating over his shoulder.

Shane grinned as well as his mechanical face could flex. "You do, huh? Well, isn't that special."

"You shouldn't see her any more," Ghost added.

"What?" Shane looked at the robot. "Why? I thought you liked her."

"You have three weeks, max, before your reboot," Ghost said. "I know the signs. You don't want to wake up and have a girl you don't know screaming at you."

"It might make me remember her," Shane retorted. "Force those memories to stick around. Nobody knows how it works."

"Shane, you've been on two dates with her," Ghost pointed out. "You don't even know her last name. She'll dump you for the next hot man who comes along. You humans are notoriously fickle in your mating rituals, and I don't want you hurt any further."

"Maybe I don't want you butting in," Shane snapped. "She keeps me from thinking about the screwed-up shit in my brain. It may even be slowing it down."

"She's a woman," Ghost growled. "Not a life raft."

"You think I'm using her?" Shane snapped. "Well, I'm not! Don't even think it!"

But he was, and he knew it as he stomped through the Tower's security checkpoint. Cindra had become a symbol of the normal human life he no longer had.

He went to bed and didn't sleep. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, his green eye-lights casting faint spots of light on it. Maxim would have sat with him and listened to his reboot woes. Max had been through it, too, and had his own share of relationships.

Traveler above, he missed Maxim. Shane flung an arm over his eyes to hide the lights. His insides ached as if he'd been the one cored by the sniper's bullet. Maybe it was wrong to toy with Cindra when he was so unstable. Maybe he'd tell her about it ... later. Not tomorrow. But later.

* * *

 

Shane-4 and Cindra met after work every day. She made him laugh and forget about the growing unease inside his own body - the restlessness that craved more of something, he didn't know what. More touch? More air in his synthetic lungs? Nothing made him forget it except Cindra.

Cindra enjoyed his company, but she was no fool. Shane had talked about his trauma the first time they had met, and avoided the subject ever since. He had to be unraveling inside, and she was his escape. She held back part of her emotions, shielding her heart from the inevitable.

One afternoon, Cindra contrived to speak to Shane's ghost alone.

Shane had just excused himself to use the restroom. Cindra asked boldly, "Could you leave your ghost here? I'd like to talk to him for a minute."

Shane and his ghost exchanged a glance, then both shrugged. "All right. Ghost, stay here. I'll be right back." He strode toward the block walk building that housed the park's facilities.

A breeze rustled the leaves of the tree overhead as Cindra sat at an old wooden picnic table.

Shane's ghost floated above its splintery top, gazing at her. "This is irregular."

"I know," she said. "He won't give me a straight answer, and I know you will. How long until his next reboot?"

"Less than a week," Ghost replied. "I advised him against spending time with you. He's sure to lose these memories."

Her heart sank. "Less than a week," she murmured. "The poor man."

"Losing Maxim-5 shattered him," Ghost said. "Both of us."

Cindra sighed and dug her hands into her hair. "If he wasn't about to reboot, do you think we'd have a chance together?"

Ghost twirled his segments, allowing a glint of Light to escape from inside. "Certainly."

Cindra straightened. "Certainly?"

"You two are emotionally compatible," Ghost replied, as if this was common knowledge. "You are comfortable with the Exo body. I believe it would be highly beneficial to my Guardian if he had someone to welcome him home after a hard mission. Only his reboot stands between you."

Cindra thought about this, her cheeks growing warm. "I thought Guardians couldn't form attachments."

"Myth," Ghost replied. "Mostly spread by Guardians who couldn't form attachments. Likely they couldn't do it when they were human, either."

"Oh, well, then ..." Cindra wrapped a lock of hair around one finger. "Let me know when he reboots. I want to see him ... after. We'll see if the spark is still there."

"Very well," Ghost replied. "Remember, I'm a ghost, not a god."

Cindra nodded. Shane returned, and they resumed their previous conversation, with his ghost watching in silence.

* * *

 

Two days later, Shane was at the park with Cindra, watching the sun set, when his skin began to itch.

He scratched his arm without thinking about it. Then he glanced down and realized his arm was made of metal.

Where was his skin? He must have skin underneath. It itched so badly. He scratched at his arm, then his elbow.

Cindra noticed. "Uh, Shane, what's wrong?"

"Ants or something," he replied, picking at his own paneling. "Under my skin."

"Oh god," Cindra breathed. "Shane, get your ghost right now."

Shane jerked his head and his ghost materialized.

"I knew it," Ghost muttered. "I'm calling Dr. Cairn."

Cindra grabbed Shane's twitching hands and held them still. "Look at me," she commanded, staring into his green eye lenses. "You need a reboot. That's all this is."

Shane gazed at her for a moment. Then he pulled away and scratched at his face.

Cindra tried to catch his hand, but Shane twisted away from her. "I'm fine! I just itch, okay? I must need a bath."

His scratching became more frantic. He tore off his tunic and ripped at his own joints.

"This is bad," Ghost said. "This is the worst I've ever seen him."

"Shane, no!" Cindra cried. She flung her arms around him and held him still.

He looked down at her, torn between amazement and growing discomfort. "Cindra ..."

"You'll be all right," she told him, holding his arms in place. "Don't destroy yourself."

A shudder passed through him. On one hand, her warm, soft body against his was immensely pleasant. Even his limited touch capabilities registered that.

On the other hand, unrest crawled through him like sickness. This metal body wasn't him. His subconscious was convinced that his real body was underneath, like armor. If he could only take it off, he would be human. He moaned with the effort of not fighting his own body, trembling.

"Can't you help him?" Cindra said to his ghost.

The tiny robot traced Shane with a healing beam. "He's not technically damaged. My scans register him as one hundred percent functional."

"Shane, can you reboot by yourself?"

He struggled to think straight, to form words that weren't incoherent screaming. "I-I don't know how. Doctor can do it. I maybe knew how once-" His speech slurred into a cry of anguish. He pulled out of Cindra's grip and tore at his own eyes.

"Stop him!" Ghost cried.

Cindra grabbed Shane's's wrists, but he spun away from her, his metal fingers damaging his own lenses. Inside him was a rising wail of terror and the sensation of being trapped.

_This isn't my body._

_Where am I?_

_How do I get out?_

Cindra grabbed his arms, kicked his knees, and toppled him to the ground. She was strong, but he was an Exo, with strength borne of metal and hydraulics. He threw her off and curled into a ball, beating his head against the turf.

The whine of a hovering motorcycle called a Sparrow approached. It parked nearby. Footsteps thudded toward them.

"He's already half gone," said Dr. Cairn's voice. "Help me turn him over."

They pushed Shane onto his back. He stared up at Cairn and Cindra through blurred, damaged eyes.

The doctor pulled a small round device out of his pocket, turned it on, and pressed it to Shane's head. "Sleep."

Shane's consciousness faded to black.

* * *

 

Human interface functioning at 100%

Consciousness fully active

Rebooting ...

* * *

 

Shane-5 opened his eyes.

He lay on one of the hospital beds in the Exo Psych hospital beneath the Tower. Machinery towered around him, automated welding touches, tiny mechanized claws, and fine little fingers tipped with needles.

His Exo body felt warm and comfortable, relaxed for the first time. His mind was blank. No thoughts, no worries, nothing. For a second, he almost thought there should be more. Hadn't he been worried or upset about something? But he couldn't remember.

Another Exo stepped into view, dressed in a white lab coat and with a ghost floating nearby that was decorated in expensive scrollwork. Shane-5 blinked at it. He had seen that ghost before.

"Shane-5, I'm Cairn-9," the Exo said. "You have just awakened from your latest reboot. Are you aware that Shane-5 is your name?"

"Yes," Shane replied. It was comfortingly familiar, so it must be his.

Cairn lifted a tablet. "I'm going to ask you some questions to access the memory loss and decide if you need re-orientation."

Shane nodded.

"First, can you produce your ghost?"

Ghost? Oh yes, his robot friend. He lifted a hand and Ghost appeared, floating above his palm.

The little robot swept him with an anxious scan. "You're all right. Thank the Light."

Shane smiled at him. He remembered his ghost. That was a good sign.

Cairn ran down a list of other skills and situations. Shane remembered how to move, eat, dress himself, and other basic things, but he had lost all but his earliest Guardian training. Orientation for sure, then.

"Your ghost will show you to your room and help you navigate the Tower," Cairn said. "In the meantime, you have a former friend here to see you. You may not remember her, but you might want to get reacquainted."

A friend from his previous reboot? Curious, Shane followed the doctor out of the exam room into a waiting area filled with rows of empty seats. A human woman sat there, her fingers knotted in her lap. Long, curly black hair cascaded over one shoulder. She rose to her feet and stared at him anxiously.

Shane blinked at her. He had no idea who she was, but damn, she was pretty. He could get used to the idea of getting to know her again.

Cairn said, "His memory loss is extensive, but with help, I think he can rebuild himself. Shane-5, this is Cindra Ironbolt. Cindra, this is Shane-5."

Shane extended his hand. When she took it, he clasped it in both of his. "I hope I treated you right," he told her. "If not, I hope this can be a new beginning."

She beamed, resting her other hand on top of his. "Always the gentleman."

 

The end


End file.
